'Catesby… old Catholic family, handsome devil of a man. Good swordsman too, by all accounts. Caught up with Essex, wasn't he? You would know better than I…' He gazed slyly at Gresham, who returned his look unmoved. 'Wife died, so I believe; thick with the priests. House in Lambeth, or used to have one there. Also lodgings in the Strand… A hothead, powerful, many friends. One to watch, definitely, one to watch…
'The Wright brothers… Catholics to the core, good swordsmen both
… reckoned some of the best in the country. Up to their necks with Essex and his song and dance, with their friend Catesby. Travellers to Europe, both of them, up to no good. It was me who tipped off Walsingham about them…
'Tom Wintour… Wintours of Huddington Court, sitting on a fortune with the saltpans at Droitwich — God knows what they have to rebel about with their money. Another known Catholic, younger brother. Restless, fiery, Witty, fond of the women and the wine… another traveller, up to no good I would guess…
'Percy… now there's a man of piss and wind. Does Northumberland's dirty work for him, went to negotiate with good King James for Northumberland, angry, vainglorious… King seems to like him… hates Cecil… nettles in his arse and an ambition that burns him dry. Wild, wild, to be steered clear of… master of no-one yet servant to none in his heart as well… For God's sake, man, will you give me that bottle’
'Eventually,' said Gresham calmly. 'One more thing. You're a professional traitor, Tom, aren't you? So who's my lever into opening the lid of this affair?' Gresham's eyes could have pierced through the timbers on a ship's side as they looked at Phelippes. 'Who can be bribed into betraying their friends from this group? Who is there of your kind amidst these men?'
Phelippes looked longingly at the bottle. Gresham made no move.
'Tresham,' he croaked. 'Francis Tresham. I know he's not on your list, but he's been in bed all his life with those who are. He's a thieving, violent, angry little runt, and if his friends and relatives are up to mischief you can bet Francis Tresham won't be far away.'
'More,' said Gresham. 'I want more.'
'Big Catholic family.' The sweat was now running in small beads across the cavities on Phelippes' face. 'Father a patriarch, big builder, big spender. Had to bail the boy out endless times. Had to bribe him out of here, the Tower, after the Essex rebellion. Young Tresham's lucky still to have his head. He's a wild one, out of control — for God's sake give me that bottle’
'Here.' He tossed the second bottle to Phelippes, who fell upon it and managed nearly to swallow the bottle as well as its contents.
'Don't betray me again, Tom,' said Gresham as he took his leave of the miserable cell and its occupant. 'In an hour or so you'll start to feel ill, and then your body will seek to expel the poison you fed it, by venting your bowels and your stomach. It'll be forcible, and it'll hurt, I'm pleased to say. A lot. You'll be able to take no food for three, four days, perhaps even a week, and your gut will hurt all that time as if it had been fed molten lead. But you'll recover, unless you catch the plague in the meantime. And by the way, the other wine is pure.'
It took them an interminable time to move through the various gates that let them out to the Thames, twice as long as it had taken them to enter.
"You've not used poison before, master,' said Mannion. There was no accusation in his carefully guarded tone. 'I haven't this time,' said Gresham.
But I was sorely tempted. Forman gave me the bottle of poison that is here still in my purse. I was ready to pour the wine into the goblets we brought in the basket, and slip the poison in by sleight of hand. I wanted him to die, to suffer for what he had done. And I don't know why I stopped in time.
'There was no poison?' asked Mannion incredulously. Gresham's act had clearly convinced him.
‘No poison in the wine. The last bottle contained a potion that Forman assures me will give Thomas Phelippes a gut-ache that he'll remember for the rest of his misbegotten life.'
Mannion started to laugh, his hilarity causing his whole body to shake so that he had to grasp one of the rotting wooden stakes by the jetty.
'In dosing him I did no more than my civic duty. A change gives as much peace as a rest, and those who tend Phelippes will soon have a new stench as a change from that of the ditch!'
Gresham laughed alongside Mannion. In his laughter was a sense of release. Without conscious thought on his behalf, he now knew who his enemy was.
Jane had awoken when they returned to the House. Traces of the drug were still in her. She was sitting in a back room overlooking the river, thin and drawn, with a blanket over her shoulders despite the summer's day.
Gresham was brusque with her. 'I think I know why someone tried to murder us on the river last night.'
She turned to look at him, the fire in her eyes dead.
'Wake up,' he said to her, more gently. 'Wake up, or give in. You never let that stinking village kill your spirit. You never let me kill your spirit. Now choose. Are you going to let a ruffian who wanted your life take it from you, even though you killed him?'
Something like a tiny flicker of fire, as if from a grate where the embers had been left overnight, came into her gaze.
'It was…' She was about to collapse into sobs again, Gresham could see. He spoke, sharply, unkindly.
'It was indeed. It happened. You can't change that. Either let it destroy you, or conquer it. There's no halfway house.'
Instead of shouting at herself she did what Gresham had hoped, and shouted at him.
'How can you stand there so calmly? How can you let the blood wash off your hands so easily? How can you forget? These were men last night, not animals. We were so happy, and then from nowhere… this awfulness came and hit us and I… I had to…'
'You had to kill!' He was shouting now. 'Do you hear? You had to kill! Do you think you alone of God's creatures have a special existence? Do you think in this Godforsaken world God would come back to give you a special exemption from reality. Wake up, woman!' He moved close to her, kneeling down to breathe in her ear. 'And never tell me that I forget. You don't have that right. I remember, all of the times, all of them. And I do not forget. I learn to hide the memories.'
He knew then he had won, and he knew then why he loved her for her courage, for her independence and for her strength. She sat for a moment head bowed, then looked up at him. There was no extra line on her face, no extra wrinkle or grey hair, yet she had aged in a way that no physical mark would ever show. She would never be the same again, but she would be stronger, more able to survive. What she had lost to gain that victory he did not know. It was the price for survival.
'I'm sorry,' she said, with a slight sniffle still in her voice that made her pathetic, still vulnerable. 'I was rapt in my own grief. It's as you say. Do you remember it, on that horse all those years ago, me with your cloak over my village filth?'
'Remember what?' Gresham was confused.
'What you said then. I don't think you knew much about little girls. You spoke to me very solemnly, as you might your bride taking her home in splendour on their wedding day. You said, "Your life starts here. We wipe out the history of every day as we live it, and if we're brave we can start it all over again with every new day. This is your new day." I thought you were mad, and very, very handsome and dashing. No-one had ever spoken to me like that before.'
'Was I really that pompous?' If the truth be known, he did remember it.
'And still are. But I'll forgive you. I'll try very hard to make it a new day. But you must be kind to me. There'll be times when it's hard, and when I'll need loving, and not shouting at, to keep me from falling into the abyss.'
In the imperceptible way that it is with people, something in them had meshed again, and moved forward with an unspoken, unseen power.